


Scripturient

by softheathen



Series: uncommon words [2]
Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Alone, Gen, i'm tired and want to die, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-19 03:35:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9416597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softheathen/pseuds/softheathen
Summary: "Possessing a violent desire to write."





	

The ache began in Tyler's fingertips and spread out towards his body. A shuddering pain that sent shivers down his spine and fire through his veins. He closed his eyes, tightly forcing his fingers to interlock with his hair as he fell, out of breath and helpless into the ratty old blanket that draped his squeaky mattress. He couldn't breathe. With every heave of his chest the silence pressed heavier to his ribs, bruising the snow-white skin that lingered beneath the heavily worn sweater. He pressed, he pushed, he pulled, hoping to rid his skin of the weight.

His hands shook, silent whispered entered into the air. Their contents filled of things similar to prayers, to poems, to hymns. But the boy was not aware, the words escaping his lips barely heard above the ringing in his ears. Barely felt above the pain in his chest. He was certain that as this moment, nothing could be worse than this. He felt as if he was drowning in open space, suffocating in a field where there was nothing but oxygen shrouding his body. But he couldn't enjoy it. 

Tyler couldn't enjoy anything. He couldn't enjoy the silence, and he couldn't enjoy the loud. His families gently pressed hands on his skin left itches that wouldn't fall back until he showered. Scraping his body raw with his nails until he couldn't remember what the feeling of his mother's touch, his boyfriend's lips. He couldn't remember anything. 

With a deep breath, he yanked himself from the confines of his bed. Holding his breath as he stood, his knees shaking as he reached towards his bedside table. Pulling the drawer open and finding a leather-bound notebook that brought the most pained of smiles to his face. 

With ink as crimson as blood, he began to write.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm staying at my girlfriend's for the next couple days and i'm managing awfully with the transition because of how much she works and i generally just feel awful because it's so quiet and all the cat does is add a little background noise to me feeling like i'm drowning so
> 
> here's a thing to get my mind off everything else.


End file.
